


Happy New Year, or The Importance of Tax Reform

by Bittersweet_in_Boston



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: A great or the greatest way to ring in the new year, Avengers Tower, Bucky would look great in burgundy, Fancy galas, Fireworks (real and euphemistic), Hot People in Designer Clothes, Hot People out of Designer Clothes, M/M, New Year's Eve, New York City, Obnoxious Rich People’s Terrible Political Opinions, Steve is a Democrat, obnoxious rich people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:14:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22074580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bittersweet_in_Boston/pseuds/Bittersweet_in_Boston
Summary: Steve looks at Armani Tuxedo Guy with an affable enough smile but his blue eyes are cold as snow. If he remembers correctly, this is the chief executive of a diversified defense company that works with Big Oil and authoritarian regimes overseas, spends millions lobbying Congress, and uses its influence to shut out smaller and up-and-coming competitors from lucrative contracts. He shoots the cuffs of his navy blue tux jacket and thinks, Sorry, Tony
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 6
Kudos: 113





	Happy New Year, or The Importance of Tax Reform

“...and that’s why we need further tax reform and dismantling regulation to promote more free enterprise,” says the middle-aged man in the Armani tuxedo to Steve. “Don’t you think so? I’m sure you do. You are a symbol of freedom in this great country, Captain America.”

They’re standing at a table in a huge ballroom near the top of Avengers Tower. Stark throws this New Year’s party every year, and every year it’s packed to bursting with CEOs, governors, hedge fund managers, and other elites of the business and political worlds. He asks the Avengers to attend every year to schmooze and provide photo opportunities, and to grease the wheels for the charity auction that takes place after midnight and soaks his fellow Riches for millions that get funneled directly to homeless shelters, community health clinics, and children’s hospitals around the greater New York area.

Steve looks at Armani Tuxedo Guy with an affable enough smile but his blue eyes are cold as snow. If he remembers correctly, this is the chief executive of a diversified defense company that works with Big Oil and authoritarian regimes overseas, spends millions lobbying Congress, and uses its influence to shut out smaller and up-and-coming competitors from lucrative contracts. He shoots the cuffs of his navy blue tux jacket and thinks, _Sorry, Tony._

“No,” he says quietly but firmly. “No, I don’t.” The man frowns.

“No?” he says. “Whaddya mean, no?”

“I grew up poor during the Great Depression, sir,” Steve says. “There was no work and some days I barely had enough to eat. There were thousands like me all over Brooklyn, just trying our best to survive. All that because there was no regulation and unprogressive taxation.” He picks up his bourbon glass.

“If I’m a symbol of this great country,” he continues, “it’s because I came from the bottom and I care about the people there, not just the rich and powerful. I’m OK with you paying a little more in taxes so people don’t go hungry or die because they can’t afford medicine.” He tips his glass at the CEO, drains it, and walks away as the other man splutters and his face turns red.

Natasha intercepts him at the bar thirty seconds later. She’s wearing a long-sleeved, skintight black velvet column dress with a high neck and no back, and priceless ruby and diamond earrings on loan from Harry Winston for the evening. Her red hair cascades over her shoulders.

“You’re supposed to be schmoozing these bigwigs, not antagonizing them with socialism,” she murmurs as he orders another Blanton’s on the rocks. Not that the bourbon does anything for him, but it does taste good and gives him something to do with his hands.

Steve’s cheeks turn pink as he huffs, “I know, but I can’t deal with that nonsense, Nat.” He jerks his head up and turns it back toward the CEO.

“Look,” he says as another man approaches him and they start talking. “He’s probably buying Senator Young right now.” Nat sighs.

“OK, Mr. Purity,” she says in a low voice. “You can have your moral superiority, I’m gonna go nurse his wounded ego - Tony wants to shake him down for a couple mil later at the auction.” She turns to him with a corner of her mouth crooked up, winks, and smooths down her ridiculous dress as she slinks over to the CEO’s table.

“Jeff, Todd, so good to see you,” Steve hears her say as she approaches them. He sees their eyes light up and turns away, chuckling, as Natasha starts to do her stuff.

He walks through the glittering crowd, saying hello and shaking hands, but not stopping to talk with anyone. He’s been at this party for three hours now and his capacity for rich people bullshit is fast nearing zero. He stops in the shadow of a large potted palm to survey the crowd and sip his drink in relative peace.

Then a quiet voice sounds in his ear.

“Hey Captain America, symbol of this great country, wanna talk about tax reform?”

Steve grins and turns around. Bucky is wearing a burgundy velvet tux jacket, black turtleneck, and slim black tux pants. His hair is half up half down and he looks like he just stepped out of a post-Oscars party or off the runway at Ermengildo Zegna.

“I’ll reform your tax policy,” says Steve, leaning in to kiss him just below the ear and hearing with satisfaction the involuntary gasp the maneuver earns him. They step back even further into the shadows.

“Whatsa matter, Stevie,” murmurs Bucky, running his metal hand from Steve’s shoulder to his wrist. “Tired of being nice to the 0.1%?”

“You know it,” mutters Steve, leaning into the touch. It’s the first moment he’s had any time with Bucky all evening and he’s been missing him.

“I think we’ve done our duty for Stark for the evening,” Bucky says, taking Steve’s hand. He looks at Steve with a smirk and continues, “How’d you like to join me for a more...private New Year’s party?”

Unlike with the CEO, Steve’s eyes are now glittering with excitement and his smile is anything but affable.

“Hell yes,” he says as they move toward the door.

*****

An hour later and ten floors below the party, Steve and Bucky are lying across their bed, sweaty and satiated, their limbs tangled together over rumpled sheets. Their tuxes are strewn in piles across the floor. Steve is on his back, staring at the ceiling, and now his smile is dreamy. He chuckles softly.

Bucky is partially draped over him and hearing this sound, turns and presses a soft kiss to his partner’s neck.

“Thanks for reforming my tax policies and dismantling my regulations,” he says in Steve’s ear. “That was a huge boost to free enterprise.”

Steve lazily cups Bucky’s buttcheek with his free hand and feels his half-hard dick against his thigh.

“I know something else that got a huge boost,” Steve says, squeezing Bucky’s ass.

Suddenly a series of loud pops can be heard outside. Both men turn their heads toward the window to see Tony’s midnight fireworks exploding in bright patterns over the Hudson River.

They watch the fireworks for a minute and then Steve looks at Bucky.

“Happy New Year, Buck,” he says, eyes shining. Bucky smiles as he takes in his boyfriend’s face, the long eyelashes, the strong chin, the full lips, the shadows under the cheekbones.

“Happy New Year, Stevie,” Bucky says, and leans in to kiss him sweetly on the mouth. They deepen their kiss as the blue, green, red, and yellow starbursts against the window.


End file.
